


And finally see what it means to be living

by Anna Marie Darkholme (WierdAlienFantasies)



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Sister-Sister Relationship, The Guardians As A Family, the beginnings of friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-11 00:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WierdAlienFantasies/pseuds/Anna%20Marie%20Darkholme
Summary: Nebula drops by the Guardians every now and then during her attempts to kill Thanos. Bit by bit, in those quiet moments, she finds the things she had forgotten she was missing.





	1. The Fox

**Author's Note:**

> My Hallowe'en fic for 2018, because honestly what is more scary than realising you feel emotions for another living being?
> 
> Title is from Tracy Chapman's Fast Car- this is by no means a songfic, but some of the lyrics felt strangely appropriate.
> 
>  
> 
> Side note: fear not, my other two multi-chapter fics have not been abandoned, I just realised I needed to post this now so at least part of it would not be late for Hallowe'en. Once all the chapters are up, I will resume posting both "It's getting harder to remember your face" and "Rage against the dying of the light".

Whenever she finds herself back with her sister’s band of misfits, Nebula tends to gravitate towards the ship’s engines. The noise is oddly soothing and the cramped conditions remind her of the crafts she ‘borrows’ when she sets out on her own. As an added bonus, most of the others rarely go down to the engines so it is a good place to go to escape. The one exception is the fox, who is there almost as frequently as Nebula. He seems content enough to tinker in his corner, only throwing an insult her way when she first arrives and otherwise leaving her be.

Occasionally, he’ll gripe about needing a tool. Usually Nebula ignores him, but if she happens to have the implement in question to hand or can see where he’s left it, she finds herself passing it to him in stony silence. She only does it to restore quiet, as his complaints disturb her peace. She does not do it to help him in anyway. Sure, occasionally she’ll tinker herself and shore up his work. He never acknowledges her changes, but does not remove them either. With this strange unspoken arrangement, at some point she begins to see him in a new light. Despite herself, she starts to think of him as Rocket even if she persists in referring to him aloud as fox.

One such evening, Nebula is in a particularly bad mood. The latest lead on Thanos she had been chasing had ended particularly badly. So badly, she’d been stranded and had had to call her sister for a pick up. She was still stewing over the indignity of actually needing help, of being lumped with the misfits out of necessity instead of her own choice. Rocket breaks her out of her angry reverie with a snarl as he kicks the latest device he is working on.

“Dammit, where’s the flarkin’ ion drive?”

Nebula is not in the mood to deal with anyone else, so stays where she is. She pretends not to notice the tool in question, resting roughly halfway between the two of them. Rocket continues to quietly cuss, searching around his station until he finally turns around and spots it. Bristling, he stalks over and snatches it up. Nebula merely watches him, her expression unchanging. Something about that sets him off, and as he stalks back to his station he throws his free paw in the air and snaps out.

“Would it kill ya ta help out? Bad enough I’m stuck with the losers, now I gotta deal with flarkin’ relatives who do nothin’ but lurk in dark corners an’ mope. Ain’t nobody on this whole ship who ever gives me a hand.”

As he speaks, an idea creeps into Nebula’s head. It is so unlike anything she’s done before. Thanos would certainly not approve, and that though alone is enough to spur her into action. There are a few quiet clicks, then something is sailing through the air to strike Rocket squarely in the side and clatter to the floor at his feet. There was not enough force behind it for any real damage, so it is shock not pain that has him freezing. Slowly, as if in a daze, he reaches down to pick up _her left hand_ from where it rests against his foot. He turns to face her, clutching it limply.

His eyes dart from the hand to her face, his own frozen in a mask of disbelief. Nebula holds his gaze evenly, betrays not a flicker of emotion. For several seconds, there is silence save for the rumbling of the warp drive. Suddenly Rocket throws his head back and a strange, throaty bark escapes his throat. Nebula blinks in confusion, listening as the noise continues, before it hits her: he’s _laughing_.

Nebula is not used to laughter, has never really experienced it outside her sister’s gang of misfits. It is a strange sound… but not unpleasant. Listening to Rocket, unable to control the way his body shakes as he clutches her hand, she feels strangely at ease. It is almost unsettling. Almost. Eventually he seems able to compose himself, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh man, that was brilliant! Jus’ wait til the others hear about this, Drax’ll die…”

He casually tosses the hand back to Nebula. She catches it without missing a beat, keeping her focus on him as he turns back to work, continuing to talk casually over his shoulder.

“… ya know, ya ain’t so bad blue. Once you get over that ugly mug and the whole rage at the universe thing that is.”

Despite herself, Nebula finds herself smirking.

“I could say the same about you fox.”


	2. The Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby!Groot is just so cute, I couldn't help myself. Straight up fluff this chapter, and I won't even apologise for it. Enjoy!

Contrary to popular belief, Nebula does not dislike children. She feels an unbearable tenderness towards them, a weakness that she is keen to cover up. She rarely comes into contact with children, in part due to the lifestyle she leads and the places she finds herself in. Wherever possible, if she becomes aware of children in her vicinity, she will do her best to avoid them. The reason for this (though she would never reveal it to another living soul) eats away at her. She knows her appearance is strange, even frightening, by many standards. Therefore she avoids children to save them unnecessary fear. It also saves herself the heartache.

The tree is a rare exception. She cannot exactly avoid him without avoiding her sister, something she begrudgingly admits she does not want to do. Still she does her best to minimise contact. She never eats with the rest of the group and avoids the room assigned to the tree like her life depends on it. She sticks to the shadows, to nooks and cranies and _darkness_. It is not too hard for her as she has grown used to half hiding everywhere she goes.

And yet the tree seems intent on ruining all her best efforts. No matter how careful she is, he is always there. He stares at her with his big black eyes, waves at her with his small branches, tries to talk to her. If Nebula didn’t know better she’d think he actively sought her out. Nebula is sure it is just chance, her cosmically bad luck striking once again. At least the tree does not seem overly distressed by her presence. He does not shy away from her, has never burst into tears upon catching sight of her. Nebula does not allow herself to indulge in any sentimentality over it. Raised alongside her sister’s band of misfits he likely has a very skewed view of normal. That, more than anything else, probably explains why she does not scare or disgust him. He just doesn’t know any better.

She tries to remain aloof, tries to ignore him. But something about him, his small size and big black eyes, pulls at something within her. Whenever he greets her, she finds herself returning his wave with one of her own (albeit stilted and somewhat awkward). When he comes to tug on her jumpsuit trousers, she finds herself unable to muster a biting retort. Instead she simply says.

“What do you want?”

 “I am groot!”

Nebula has had a talent for languages for as long as she can remember. She has no idea if it is some attribute of her entire species, her own individual quirk or a throwback to some early procedure Thanos subjected her to. It is a useful skill, so she doesn’t really mind how she came to have it. The language of the Flora Colossi is a particularly difficult one, but Nebula is not easily defeated. Her first few interactions with the tree, including when he had been fully grown, are enough to pick up a few basics. Some texts she finds by chance when scouring a datadrive she’d plundered from a Rigellian spacecraft allow her to pick up the rest. So she understands perfectly what the tree asks of her. Checking to make sure nobody else is around to see, she sighs.

“Oh, alright. But tell nobody.”

With that she reaches up, grasps the bowl of brightly coloured edibles. She hands it over to the tree, who is practically vibrating in excitement.

“I AM GROOT!”

He races off, not looking back, the treats clutched close to his chest. Nebula rolls her eyes, but cannot supress a brief quirk of her lips. After that, whenever she is on the Milano, the tree comes to her at least once with a request. They are simple; usually he asks her to retrieve something he cannot reach, or occasionally to fix one of his many playthings. Nebula can never find it in her heart to refuse him. It helps that the others never seem to be around, so she can plausibly deny her actions if ever confronted about it.

Nebula accepts this routine even if she does not fully understand it. She even grows to appreciate it somewhat, to embrace the obvious trust extended to her by the small tree. That is, until the tree approaches her one evening. It is fairly late in the cycle and Nebula knows for a fact Quill and the Destroyer have already retired to their quarters to sleep. It troubles her somewhat that no one appears to have settled the tree. She tries to keep her tone gruff as she addresses him, but there is none of her usual bite or abruptness.

“What are you doing still awake tree?”

“I am groot.”

He stares up at her expectantly. Nebula is sure she is experiencing a system glitch, because there is no way she interpreted that correctly. Slowly shaking her head, she tries to get clarification.

“You want me to… what?”

“I am GROOT!.... I am groot?”

The please is tacked on the end, an afterthought. It should be impossible, but his eyes seem to grow even bigger. Nebula has been part of enough espionage operations to know when someone is trying to persuade her to do something. For once she feels it working. Clenching her fist, she turns away. Hopefully she can convince the tree to leave her alone.

“You do not want me. Why not find my sister or the fox or Mantis? They will be… better than me at this task.”

“I am groot.”

Nebula feels a sharp tug on her jumpsuit, looks down to see the tree standing there. He appears unwilling to be dissuaded. For a second Nebula feels anger rise within her but it quickly dissipates. She has never been able to feel even true annoyance at the tree, no doubt due to its cursed innocence. Truthfully, she is angry at herself, angry at her failings. She does not think she is capable of what the tree is asking of her. She is reluctant to admit this and so has to force the next words out.

“I… I have never read a bedtime story before. I do not think I will be good at it. Please do not ask me again.”

The tree is silent at that, cocking his head in thought. Nebula watches him, waits for him to leave her in _disappointment_. She is not prepared when he grips her jumpsuit and starts hauling himself up. She freezes, stays statue still. She does not want to move and end up hurting him or causing him to fall. Slowly, determinedly, the tree makes his way up her front until he is standing on her shoulder. Once there, he beams proudly. Looking her square in the face, he places one small branch against her cheek.

“I am groot.”

Nebula blinks. Hesitantly she raises her arm, pats the tree’s head as she has seen the others do. He nuzzles into her arm, eyes closing in bliss. Sighing, Nebula relents.

“Alright. I will read you your bedtime story. But just this once, okay?”

The tree merely hums happily.

 

* * *

 

Later, Gamora searches the ship. She wants to discuss a potential lead with Nebula, but cannot locate her sister. She is not in any of her usual haunts, the bridge and engine room both empty. She is starting to worry, the fear that her sister may have just taken off without a word creeping in. Then, she comes across the door to Groot’s room. It is ajar. With all her usual silent grace, she carefully enters. The sight that greets her eyes leaves her staring in shock. Nebula sits on Groot’s cot. Groot himself is nestled in Nebula’s lap, sleeping peacefully. By Nebula’s side rests Groot’s current favourite book, a ragged tome Peter had obtained at a trade post written in one of the Terran languages called The Stickman. Nebula herself is awake, as always. Her gaze is focused on the sleeping form of Groot, a relaxed expression on her face. She is almost _smiling_. Gamora shifts slightly, leading Nebula to snap her attention to the sound. Nebula’s eyes widen and, Gamora notes with surprise, her cheeks darken slightly in embarrassment. For her part Gamora quickly relaxes her face into a smile, reassuring her sister with careful whispers.

“It is only me. I merely wanted to check in with you, but I see that you are busy. Would you like me to help you move Groot back to his bed.”

Nebula’s eyes dart back to his sleeping form, her expression softening slightly. Her reply is as quiet as Gamora’s.

“No, it is fine. I have no place else to be and this is not… not uncomfortable.”

Gamora’s smile widens. She dips her head in acknowledgement.

“As you wish. Goodnight, sister.”

There is a pause, and then

“Goodnight sister.”


	3. Quill

Nebula used to be of the opinion that only sentient (or at least living) beings could mock one another. That was before she started to infrequently find herself alongside her sister and her band on Quill’s ship. Now she knows better. Quill’s songs, incessant noise, follow her down the corridors. At night, when the others sleep, she finds her head _moving in time to their beats_. Even when she leaves and flies off alone, the rhymes and refrains plague her. Nebula is absolutely certain the songs, living or not, are laughing at her.

Luckily Nebula is a master at ignoring things (or as Gamora puts it, stubborn as a grumpy Moomba). She will not let Quill’s frustratingly catchy tunes win. And so she steadfastly grits her teeth and blocks them from her thoughts. Or at least tries.

That is why it comes as a shock when, stalking down the corridor connecting the engine room and the room her sister is sharing with her, she becomes acutely aware of the melody trickling out of the speakers. She has been aboard long enough for three rotations of Awesome Mix 1 (not that she will admit to knowing that), and so this is the fourth play through of this particular song. It is not one of the louder ones, nor the one that gets stuck in her head most. And yet, something about it has caught her attention.

Nebula halts abruptly to focus her attention on the noise. As she stands there her concentration is so great that she does not notice that she cocks her head towards the speaker, looking eerily similar to a dog assessing a familiar sound. Suddenly it clicks. This time there is a scratchy undertone to the melody. The sound stirs memories within her of when her throat implant was damaged. She had disappointed Thanos somehow (she had done that so often the reasons blurred into one) and he had lifted her up, nearly crushing her windpipe in his calculated grasp. For weeks afterwards she had struggled to fill her lungs with sufficient oxygen and her voice had taken on a grating timbre almost identical to that now coming out of the speakers.

After that the sound bothers her. She can no longer block it out, cannot seem to think about anything else. The next song barely starts before she gives a hiss of annoyance then storms off to the cockpit. There she knows is where Quill keeps the device he uses to play his music aboard the ship. She knows this because he showed it to her himself, the first time she’d come aboard the Milano again after the Ego affair. He’d been inexplicably proud to show it to her, patting the device with a tenderness that was foreign to her. She had not known how to react so had merely stood there awkwardly until Gamora had taken pity on her and swooped in to distract Quill and change the subject.

Nebula reaches the cockpit and is relieved to find it empty. She does not particularly want an audience for what she plans to do. With a final glance about, she crouches before Quill’s beloved device. Unlike the hi-tech radio communications used from Xandar to Hala, it is a big and bulky thing full of outdated mechanisms. Luckily for her she has a good base of technical experience and knowledge, a product of years of covert work under Thanos and being forced to maintain her own ever increasing circuitry.

Nebula manages to open up the device without much resistance, then takes in the inner workings. It will not be easy, but she thinks she can see the fault. Reaching into her belt she pulls out a multitool then leans into the heart of Quill’s device to get to work. She loses track of time, so focused is she on her goal. She tells herself she is only fixing the device to stop the annoyance, to rid herself of a reminder of a painful experience in her past. Her motives are selfish. She does _not_ care how her sister’s band would feel if the device were to break. She definitely does _not_ feel any need to do this on account of Quill.

 

* * *

 

Eventually Nebula is fairly certain she has restored the device to optimal performance. Her arms are stained with oil to her elbows and there is a slight burn above her right eyebrow from where she accidently exposed a live wire, but she is satisfied with her work. She extracts herself from the device and is just brushing down her front when a voice interrupts her. She flinches, taken by surprise for a heartbeat, but quickly conceals her shock. She recognises the voice instantly. _Quill_.

“What are you doing? Please tell me you aren’t placing a bomb, Gamora said if you wanted to kill us you’d do it yourself but…”

Quill’s expression is guarded, but his voice has the lightness to it that suggests it is one of his attempts at Terran humour. Still, Nebula is ashamed to be caught in the act of doing something that could be interpreted as nice. Failing back on familiar anger, she sets her face into a frown and spits out a response.

“My sister is right; I would need no bomb or weapon or even a short stick to take on you. I was merely correcting a flaw in the operating system that you and your crew were too incompetent to notice.”

She finishes with a snarl for good measure. That should be enough to deal with Quill. She turns, manages to stalk two steps before Quill’s hand is on her shoulder. She whips round lighting fast, baton extended and half an inch from Quill’s throat before he can even yelp. He raises his hands, eyes going wide.

“Woah, woah! What is it with the woman in your family and weapons!”

Nebula narrows her eyes, but retracts her baton and returns it to her belt. Quill relaxes slightly, but keeps a healthy distance between them. Nebula says nothing, deciding it will be easier to let Quill say what he wants. If she doesn’t he’ll only mope, which will lead to her sister giving her that awful disappointed look.

“Look, I just wanted to say thanks. That was surprisingly cool of you. My music… it means a lot to me. I don’t know what I’d do if my player broke.”

Nebula is unused to gratitude. It feels strange to be thanked so sincerely by somebody she has tried to kill on several occasions. She supposes they’re almost allies now though, as little use Quill is. Stiffly she nods.

“It was… nothing. The song about the man with questionable methods for choosing a mate is almost pleasant to listen to when the sound is clear.”

Quill stops, his face frozen in disbelief. For a moment Nebula worries she actually shocked him with her baton earlier and he is now having a delayed reaction. Then, slowly, a huge grin spreads across his face.

“Wait… you actually listen to my songs?”

Nebula rolls her eyes and decides not to honour that statement with a response. It does nothing to dampen Quill’s enthusiasm. He continues to talk, half to himself, as he leaves the room in search of her sister.

“Oh man I need to tell the others… Hey Gam! Did you hear that? It’s official, the Pina Colada Song IS the best song in the universe! Even Nebula likes it…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter totally wants to bond with the sister of the woman he loves, even though she terrifies him. A few hints of Starmora here, but so vague I didn't feel I could tag it. Also, for the record, The Pina Colada Song is for real one of the greatest songs in the whole frickin' galaxy. No lie.


	4. The Destroyer

The next time Nebula decides to regroup and share information with her sister, she finds herself roped into a firefight with renegade Badoon on a backwater moon at the edge of Shi’ar space. For all their supposed battle skill the Badoon fall before her with laughable ease. She finds herself back to back with one of her sister’s band, the so-called “Destroyer”. His form is unbearably sloppy, but she has some small appreciation of his enthusiasm for battle (not that she’d ever admit it to him). Just when she thinks this whole fight will be boring one of the Badoon is able to get a shot off before a blast from the fox’s gun obliterates his weapon (and most of his hand).

Nebula is not entirely sure what happens next. She is above petty sentiment, thinks of only ensuring she outlives her opponents when in battle. Logically it must be a simple mistake. A momentary bout of _weakness_. She isn’t even aware of what she is doing until it is too late to stop. Catching sight of the stray blast, she lets out an urgent

“Get down!”

She twists her body so that the blast just glances off her mechanical limb as she forcibly pushes the Destroyer out of the way. It is not a critical injury; the destroyer himself had inflicted worse on her back on the Dark Aster all those cycles ago. It does sting, her damaged connections sending jolts of electricity through her systems. But she grits her teeth and pushes the pain aside to continue with the battle. Soon all the Badoon are unconscious or wishing that they were. That should have been the end of it.

 

* * *

 

Back on Quill’s obnoxious ship, Nebula instantly retreats into a corner to carry out repairs in private. She tells herself it is just to ensure she has the necessary quiet. She is _not_ hiding. She _does not_ dread the stares and questions that always plague her when she opens up panels to reveal the circuitry contained within her. She doesn’t want her sister (or indeed any of her sister’s band’s) _pity_ at another reminder of how little of herself remains. The repairs progress fairly smoothly. She only misconnects her neural interfaces once and receives only two shocks in total making it was one of her better works. Still, the arm feels a little _off_.

Unable to shake the feeling, Nebula leaves her not-hiding-place with her knives strapped to her belt. She quickly heads to the cargo hold, where it is easy to set up a makeshift target. She steps back, appraises the target for a few moments. Suddenly she whips out one of her blades, testing the weight with her cybernetic hand. She tosses it in her hand once, twice, then hurls it at the target. It embeds itself deep half an inch from the centre. Growling in frustration, Nebula whips out two more knives and throws them in succession. They land slightly above and slightly below the first, still half an inch off their mark. Nebula lets out a string of colourful and, quite frankly, overly imaginative curses in five languages.

“Neither your knives nor your target are living, therefore they cannot hear your words. You should save your breath.”

Nebula whips round to find the Destroyer standing in the doorway. He is watching her with his usual intensity, but there is no outward hostility about him. Nebula is not sure how to respond to what he has said, which is just as well as he decides to continue on.

“I am well versed in the ways of knives. I could help you correct your inferior aim.”

He speaks with no spite, as if merely stating a known fact. Still Nebula hears it as a challenge, as an insult. She bristles, prepares to retort. She opens her mouth, but closes it without a word. She does need to restore her aim. It is not like the Destroyer could make things any worse. If he tries anything, Nebula is confident she can best him without needing to resort to her knives at all. Reluctantly coming to a decision, she simply gives a curt nod.

The Destroyer comes closer, watches her as she draws her last two blades. She throws the first, and once more it lands wide of her mark. As she draws back the next, the Destroyer places his hand on her arm. His touch is surprisingly gentle.

“No, you have too much tension here. Relax a little, like so.”

Nebula finds the sensation of physical contact strange, but the Destroyer has made no move to attack and so she tolerates it. She tries to do as instructed, but relaxing her cybernetics is much more difficult than relaxing her own muscles. Slowly the tension leaves her arm. The Destroyer lets his hand drop.

“Yes, just like that. Now throw.”

Nebula closes her eyes, centres herself, then releases the knife. **Thunk.** She opens her eyes, sees the blade embedded dead in the centre of the target. A deep throaty laugh causes her to snap her attention to the side. For a moment she fears she is being mocked, but when the Destroyer pulls himself together his expression carries no malice.

“That was good. It feels nice to be able to offer my wisdom to another again…”

A strange look comes over him. Nebula is vaguely aware of his past, of his motive for hunting down first Ronan and now Thanos (if not as dedicatedly as she does). Something about the sadness that seems to have settled over him makes her uncomfortable. It is this discomfort that she blames for the words that tumble out her mouth.

“Bet I could take you in a contest.”

That seems to draw the Destroyer’s attention away from his thoughts. Blinking once in shock, a smile spreads across his face.

“I will destroy you utterly, sister of Gamora. Let us commence this test of skill!”

 

* * *

 

For the next hour and a half, Drax and Nebula perform increasingly impossible feats of knifework. Nebula’s throws are more acrobatic, incorporating flips and rolls, but Drax’s tend to be more well placed (if only by a half inch). The targets become ever more complex, involving chains and moving components, until Nebula accidently pierces a pipe containing coolant.

“What the flark have ya done this time Quill?”

The sound of the fox’s angry voice sends both Nebula and Drax scurrying to gather up their knives and vacate the scene. Having put some distance between themselves and the cargo hold, Nebula feels the Destroyer’s hand on her shoulder. She turns around, fist raised to strike, but finds him not poised to attack but relaxed, a smile on his face. Embarrassed she hastily lowers her fist. Either he does not see, or he elects to ignore her reaction. Hand still on her shoulder, he solemnly addresses her.

“Nebula, when we first met I thought you to be in league with the ones who had murdered my family. I was prepared to destroy you. I devised ways to do it, and thought about them often. They were violent and magnificent.”

Nebula is not sure where this is going. She cannot help her brows quirking slightly in utter confusion.

“Now, I see that is not the case. Whilst it is true you are unlikable and almost as hideous as Mantis, you have shown yourself to be a skilled and fierce warrior. It is an honour to fight alongside you.”

He extends his forearm towards her, palm up. Nebula does not know the Destroyer well, not like her sister does. She has however done some cursory research into his species, as she did with all the species her sister now travels with (whether she did it to understand them as potential opponents or potential allies she is not sure). She recognises the gesture as part of the culture on Kylos, the greeting of fellow warriors. She hesitates only for a moment before placing her arm in the Destroyers and mirroring the bracing grip he takes. The smile that lights up his face makes her think maybe, just maybe, she would not _completely_ mind to fight alongside him again.

From then on, whenever Nebula finds herself back with her sister’s band, the Destroyer extends his forearm as greeting. To the rest of the crew’s surprise, and indeed her own, she always takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be unable to post tomorrow and so, as a "treat" rather than a "trick" here is the next chapter now! I couldn't get Dad!Drax out of my head, so this piece ended up changing a lot from it's original draft. Still, I hope the results are enjoyable! I cannot remember if Drax's homeworld is named in the movies, but in the TellTaleGame series and Guardians Cartoon show (both set in alternate versions of the movieverse) it is referred to Kylos so that is the name I went with.


	5. Mantis

Nebula does not mean much when she refers to Mantis by her given name. It is not due to any sentimentality on her part. It is merely due to her distaste at the alternatives. She once heard Quill, voice brimming with excitement, explain the many different words his kind had for small creatures that somewhat resemble Mantis. They are all harsh, terms of disgust or disdain. _Bug_. _Insect_. _Creepi-crahli_ (she is not sure if Quill correctly remembered the last one, for it sounded so very alien even to her ears). Mantis is not harsh, and try as she might Nebula cannot sustain feelings of disgust or disdain towards her. Therefore she is forced to resort to calling her by her name.

It does not help that Nebula does not find Mantis inherently annoying. Overly fragile perhaps, definitely unfathomably cheerful, without a doubt far too trusting and innocent. But not… not unpleasant to be around. She never bothers Nebula with conversation, is always content to simply exist in her presence. Despite this, she has somehow wormed her way into Nebula’s thoughts. When away from her sister’s band Nebula sometimes hears Mantis’s voice or sees her face. Once or twice she’s even felt the ghost of her hand brush against her own (they’ve never touched, so Nebula has no idea where the idea that they _might_ comes from).

As they stand on the bridge together, simply existing in one another’s space, Nebula senses something is off. She focuses her attention on Mantis and instantly it becomes clear she is trying to hide something. She is shifting about, something concealed behind her back. Whenever she thinks Nebula is not looking, she is stealing furtive glances at her. Despite herself, Nebula feels mild curiosity as to what Mantis is trying to achieve. It is this, not annoyance, that prompts her to speak. Her tone is flat, but devoid of its usual anger.

“What are you doing?”

Mantis starts, shocked to have been discovered. Sheepishly she sidles over to Nebula and reveals the object she has been concealing. Nebula stares at the strange device. She has never seen anything quite like it, but it appears similar in design to the few Terran artifacts she has come across so she guesses it’s from Quill’s homeworld. What it does however she cannot even guess.

“I am sorry, I was trying to work up the courage to ask you a question. This is a polaroid camera, Peter gave it to me as what he called a “present”. I like it very much.”

Nebula feels some small satisfaction for correctly determining the object’s origin. Seeing how Mantis is holding the device out towards her, she takes it as permission to study it. Cautiously she takes a step forward, catalogues every inch of the device. She does not think it is a weapon (Mantis does not like weapons), but experience has taught her weapons can easily be concealed. Having scanned the device in several spectra and found no obvious means of harm, Nebula still cannot settle. Turning her gaze back to Mantis, she finds her watching her expression eagerly. Nebula gets the feeling she is supposed to do something, _feel something_. Dropping her own gaze so as to miss the look of hurt or disappointment her lack of response will no doubt produce, she half mumbles out.

“What is its purpose?”

Even without seeing her face, Nebula can hear the smile in Mantis’s response.

“It is for taking pictures! Like holofilm, but on tiny squares. I love to look at them, they are so pretty with their bright colours. It is like capturing a feeling, a memory.”

Nebula does not understand the sentiment Mantis expresses but cannot bring herself to tell her. Drawing her brows together in a frown of confusion, she merely asks.

“Why are you telling me this.”

Mantis seems to study Nebula’s face for a moment, searching for something before glancing away. She shifts slightly, before speaking again.

“I was wondering if I may take a picture with you?”

Nebula stares blankly back at Mantis. She seems to take that as permission to elaborate.

“I have pictures with all the other guardians. I know you do not stay with us the whole time, Gamora explained about your very important mission to kill your father. But, when you are with us, you fight alongside us and guard the galaxy and so I’d like to take a picture with you too… if that is alright? I use them to decorate the wall of my sleeping quarter, and it would be nice to have a reminder of you when you are not with us.”

Nebula blinks, taking in all that is being said. She turns it over in her head, searches for the trick she must be missing. There must be some catch, some elaborate joke at her expense. And yet, there is no hint of deceit in the face of Mantis as she waits hopefully for an answer. Logically, if her sister agreed to take a picture, there can be no harm in such an act (Nebula trusts Gamora’s judgement, unlike the others whom she has little doubt could be easily led into a trap). Hesitantly, she gives Mantis permission.

“If it is so important to you. Just make it quick.”

Mantis’s whole body seems to light up. Her antennae faintly glow as she beams, and Nebula finds the last traces of her doubt fading. Holding the device out, Mantis moves in close (but not too close, careful to avoid any contact). Fixing her gaze on the device, she calls out.

“Smile!”

At that Nebula freezes, then abruptly storms off away from Mantis and her device. She is halfway to the door before Mantis can catch up with her. Eyes wide in concern, her voice trembles.

“Did I do something wrong? I am sorry.”

Nebula hesitates. There is nothing stopping her from leaving right now. She does not owe Mantis anything. She does not have to explain herself, does not have to justify her actions. And yet she can’t force her legs to move. There is no way she’s going to open up though as it would be an unacceptable display of weakness, even in front of someone as unthreatening as Mantis. As such she does not share the memories of Thanos, face split in a leer as he leans over her as she writhes and cries out during the latest enhancement. _Come now Nebula, you are being made stronger. Cease this struggling, and be grateful. Smile._ She cannot leave Mantis thinking she did something wrong though, and so sullenly forces out a clipped explanation.

“You did nothing wrong. I just… I do not do smiles.”

Mantis’s worry dissolves into a smile. Thinking she is being mocked, Nebula bristles. Before she can snap, Mantis is happily speaking again.

“Oh, I see! You need not worry, I used to be like you! I did not smile often, and when I did it was not very good. But since the Guardians freed me, I have found many reasons to smile. The practice is good and I have got much better at it, last cycle even Drax said my smile was “not completely hideous”! Here, I find it helps to just relax my face and think of nice things. I imagine space puppies and rainbows!”

Nebula scrunches her face somewhat at the image the last phrase conjures, but relaxes slightly. It appears Mantis is not mocking her. Despite this she is unsure if she wishes to attempt to take a picture again. A quick glance at Mantis’s face, taking in the joy, leaves an uncomfortable lump in Nebula’s throat. She does not think she can refuse and risk upsetting her. With a sigh, she relents.

“Okay. I will try to smile. But only for one photo.”

“Oh thank you! It will be wonderful!”

Mantis shifts close to Nebula again, lifting the device in front of them. Nebula grits her teeth, then slowly lets out a breath. She tries to think of something else, something pleasant. At first what comes to her mind is her fist, connecting with Thanos’s face over and over. She imagines every last detail, from the exact sound to the texture of Thanos’s skin against her knuckles. Her expression shifts, but it twists into a familiar leer instead of the desired smile. Nebula falters for a moment, then tries to search for another pleasant thought. To her surprise her mind alights on her sister, arms around her. She hears her voice whisper _you will always be my sister_. Nebula is so caught up in the memory that she does not feel the edge of mouth twitch and keep twitching.

“Yes, just like that! Now look at the camera!”

Nebula’s gaze snaps to the object, a flash emitting before her expression can change. The brightness leaves Nebula blinking, but it was not intense enough to cause any damage. Mantis is clutching the camera close, rocking happily. She turns back to Nebula and explains.

“The picture will take a little while to develop. I can tell you when it is ready…”

“You do not need to. I have no interest in seeing the result…”

Nebula pauses as she sees Mantis’s face fall, and hesitantly amends her statement.

“… although I hope it is suffice for your purpose.”

With that she strides off before her lapse in judgement can lead to her doing something else so pointless just to avoid hurting Mantis’s feelings.

 

* * *

 

Two cycles later, as the rest of the crew sleep, Nebula creeps alone around the ship. Bar for the quiet whirr of her cybernetics she is totally silent. Carefully she approaches one of the sleeping quarters and painstakingly opens the door without a sound. With a last glance around to check she is still alone Nebula slips inside. For a moment, Nebula merely stares at the room before her. It is, in a word, soft. Tiny lights are strung along the walls and across the ceiling, casting a gentle glow across every corner. The colours, as far as Nebula can see them in the half-light, are all quiet pastels. There are not many possessions, but what little there is appears meticulously tidy and carefully organised to some pattern. She is careful to avoid the cot in the corner, not wanting to disturb the women buried under a multitude of blankets. Instead she approaches the far wall.

She stops just before it, and despite herself finds her hand reaching out to ghost across the pictures attached there. She takes them in one by one- the tree, the fox, the Destroyer, Quill, her sister. All stand or sit next to Mantis. The only other similarity is the _happiness_ that shines through. It ranges from raucous laughter in the case of the Destroyer to the soft smile her sister saves for when she is truly at peace (a smile Nebula has seen less and less as she has grown older). Next to the photo featuring her sister, newly attached to the wall, Nebula vaguely recognises the image of herself. Vaguely because, in all the medical images and mugshots and mirrors she has observed, Nebula has never seen herself appear so… so _happy_. The upturn of her lips is slight, but it is definitely a smile on her face.

Almost reverently, Nebula gently traces the expression. Taking one last glance at all the pictures together, Nebula turns and leaves as silently as she came. The fact that Mantis’s own joy is just as apparent in the picture with her as it is in all the other pictures does not escape her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First an apology- it seems a "trick" still caught up to me, in I had some troubles with my laptop. Thankfully they have now been resolved, and as an apology for the wait I will be posting the sixth and final chapter later today.
> 
> This chapter can be read as pre-Nebula & Mantis friendship, or even pre-Nebula/Mantis if you prefer! Also, Peter Quill is a good big brother to Mantis and buys her nice earth things like cameras and fairy lights.


	6. The Sister

It is no secret that, of all the Guardians, Gamora is Nebula’s favourite. Although she tolerates the others, and even enjoys their company on rare occasions, she still has moments where she just cannot relax in their presence. She sometimes has doubts, occasionally is gripped by the fear that they may be secretly working for Thanos. With Gamora it is different. Despite years of suffering and resentment, Nebula never stopped viewing her as family. Since discovering this deep in the caves on Ego, Gamora has stopped trying to conceal her own feelings. Being a sister does not come easily to either of them, but Gamora seems determined to keep trying. Nebula herself can do no less.

Whenever she crosses paths with the Guardians, one of the first things Nebula does is take Gamora aside for a few minutes. At first it was purely strategic, sharing updates on Thanos either had gathered and any new potential leads. At some point Gamora started to slip in updates about what she and the Guardians had been doing recently and ask questions of Nebula, neither of which were directly related to Thanos. Sometimes, despite herself, Nebula even answers the questions with more than a single syllable.

Beyond that, Nebula spends little time alone with Gamora. While she technically bunks with her sister, as Nebula does not need to sleep she tends to not spend too much time in the small room. The one exception is when she picks up on sounds, flailing limbs and muffled whimpers. Her enhancements make her hearing better than even Rocket, so even if she were not the only one awake she doubts the others would hear. Nebula always follows the sounds to their source, slipping into Gamora’s room. Once she secures the door behind her she slowly, haltingly, lowers herself onto the simple cot beside her sister. She allows her faint warmth and the quiet whirring of her enhancements to anchor her sister and bring her out of her nightmares. In the morning she always leaves without a word but does not miss the gratitude in Gamora’s eyes. She knows it can never quite repay the nights Gamora risked her life to offer her comfort against Thanos’s orders, but it is _something_.

 

* * *

 

One night, as Nebula stands on the bridge staring out into space, she catches faint sounds. Only one Guardian moves so quietly, so she is not surprised when her sister appears. Holding a worn blanket in one hand and two yaro roots in the other her sister seems to think for a moment before softly speaking.

“May I join you?”

“It is your ship.”

They both know what she really means. Gamora’s face softens into one of her smiles and she moves beside Nebula. She lays the blanket down then settles herself on it. Nebula waits until she is still before doing the same. She does not snatch the offered Yaro root, her movement unnaturally gentle as she carefully accepts it. For a few minutes the sisters eat in silence, staring out at the stars before them. Eventually Gamora speaks.

“My family grew Yaro root. My father had always been a farmer, and my mother gave up her position as head of the local hunt to be with him. I didn’t understand why she would do something like that. Whenever I asked her, she’d always smile. She’d say there are things beyond prestige or glory. That when you find something like that, someone so special, you give up anything and everything to be with them. Because they are worth it.”

There is a moment of silence, before Nebula speaks.

“I remember. I remember all the stories of your family, of your homeworld. Back on Sanctuary I used to like listening to you tell them.”

Gamora turns to look at Nebula, but Nebula’s gaze remains firmly fixed on the stars. Carefully setting her root aside, Gamora moves closer so that their shoulders just brush. Nebula lets her rest there. Gamora savours the peace for a moment before she dares to ask a question.

“Do you remember anything? From your homeworld, or your family?”

Nebula goes very still and very silent. Even her cybernetics seem muted. The silence stretches on. Anyone else would move on, change the topic or excuse themselves, but Gamora is patient and knows her sister, maybe better than she knows herself. Eventually, very softly, Nebula speaks.

“I do not even remember my homeworld’s name. But I think… I think I remember my mother’s voice. She was showing me the sky, pointing out the stars. She said… she said in her eyes I shone brighter than any of them. Her little Nebula, a piece of the heavens come to earth. That’s… that’s all. Sometimes I think I might have just imagined it, or maybe Thanos put the memory there….”

Nebula trails off. Gamora gently takes her hand in her own, and after a moment Nebula intertwines their fingers. Together the two of them stare out at the stars. Gamora pretends not to notice when Nebula hastily wipes at her cheek. For her part Nebula does not let go of Gamora’s hand. For the first time, she allows herself to believe that she can be someone other than Thanos’s least favourite daughter. Sister. Friend. _Guardian_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How could I end with anything else? I present Gamora & Nebula sibling moments, for once (relatively) angst-free!
> 
> So this marks the end of this piece! I hope it was enjoyable, thank you so much to everyone who has read and interacted with the story. This was very different from my usual style (I can't seem to NOT get all angsty usually), but whilst writing something happier posed a few challenges I had a lot of fun doing it. Also, this is the fastest I have ever managed to get out a story- just under two weeks from initial concept planning to the posting of the final chapter (if only I could maintain that level of productivity). Happy Hallowe'en everyone!


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